May 20, 2006

Where is my pole?



Being a stripper must be cool.

Why else would all the females I see at clubs these days be so eager to imitate the moves they see in bad hip hop video's, HBO documentaries and scenes from the Soprano's when they're inside the fictional Bada Bing?

Don't get it twisted, I'm not hating on my sisters who, by choice or circumstance, make their livings in the sex industry--whether it's as exotic dancers/pole dancers/strippers/whatever. It's not for me to judge anyone on how they make their ends meet. The only person's judgements you need to be concerned with is your own.

But I am thoroughly distressed when I go out and see everyday chicas replicating these same moves on the dance floor, not because they're that comfortable with their sexuality, not because they're trying to drive some dude wild, but simply because they believe it's the only way they're going to get any kind of positive attention.

Why am I getting on my soapbox? Why should I even care? Because a few nights ago I got to see the "stripper dance" a bit too up close and personal. While out at a concert/party, I was doing my usual people watching; checking out the crowd, feeling the vibe, enjoying the music and the performances on stage. But then outta nowhere, my attention was caught by this one chick. Why did I notice her? She was a pretty girl who was dressed in what I imagine was her sexiest outfit -- a slamming red bustier, capri's and some killer gold heels. But what got me, why I couldn't tear my eyes away from her, was because she went from dancing and buggin' out with her friends to looking like something out of "Girls Gone Wild" DVD. She was busy, getting busy, with hyper active booty claps, hip grinding and dip-it-low tactics. When I looked around for the dude I assumed she was trying to seduce, I realized the "dude" was a cameraman that was taping her every move, with a large light directed straight at her ass and grabbing every moment of her "performance" for whatever webcast, internet site or cable access show the tape would soon appear on.

So why did it bug me? Because she was obviously doing it to get attention. I noticed her toss her hair and whip her legs around all the while repeatedly turning her head to make sure that the cameraman was catching every single move she made. Huh?!?!? Since when was this the way to get discovered? And was she that desperate for the attention that she'd continue performing when the camera was turned off? I noticed her later busily bumping with some dude and another chick, once again, all for the benefit of the cameras that had surrounded the trio. I kept expecting to see things go from music video to porn video before my very eyes.

Now I wouldn't say that I'm a prude or uptight about sex and sexuality, but it truly bothered me to see this young woman gyrate her way around the floor in hopes that her jiggling and giggling, not her pretty face or personality, would get her noticed. And really can you blame her? The glorification of women as objects still exists and gets amplified to like the infinite degree by everyone in mainstream culture. But I'm not fingerpointing and saying the blame falls on just video producers or mysoginistic tendencies.

We, as women, are also responsible, not for how others percieve us but for what we say and do. Women like Gloria Velez, Jenna Jameson, Vida Guerra, Pam Anderson, etc. are being admired and elevated (dare I say looked up to?) to a new height. So if you're in that spotlight shouldn't you say something? Cono, how hard is it to take a minute and think about the kind of impact your actions and words have? To avoid ownership of your public influence and the impact you have on the world around you, is to live in denial. Do what you do, but at least acknowledge that it's a life YOU chose and that each young, impressionable woman has the right to choose her own path rather than trying to emulate and be boxed into a mold that might not fit.

Man...being a stripper must be cool.

May 13, 2006

No more Ms. Nice

I've never been a fan of the word "nice."

I've never been a fan because, by default, it's always been employed by others when they're asked to describe me. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that this doesn't describe part of my personality. I take great pride and pain to be nice, to make people feel comfortable, to be genuine and to get along with folks. As my friend put it so well, "Nice is free" meaning that it doesn't cost you or anyone else anything to behave that way.

But "nice," "cute," "sweet," et.al. and every other piece of verbage that's used as a catchall by folks to talk about someone that's kind, generous or unusually polite is a cop-out, a stand-in, a throw away. As a writer, I hate throw away words. And sometimes, that's what I feel "nice" is. It's like "nice" is a catchall that just fits; nice is like the reliable black slacks you keep in your closet that are always going to fit no matter how bloated you feel or how quickly you need a pair of clean, comfortable pants to jump into. "Nice" for me, conjures images of a mousy, eager-beaver, goody-goody chimiqui who unwillingly--and often unnecessarily--gets her feelings trampled on because, she's so "nice" so she won't mind.

Maybe it's because for so long I was the dictionary definition. My parents are nice, generous, giving people who gave me home training and so by default, I became "nice" too. Thankfully, I stopped being that defacto visual back in high school. I didn't warp into a biznatch or a nasty Stankisha (though people close to me can tell you that I, ahem, can get ugly when my temper gets loose) but I learned the hard way that being too nice, too fast with the wrong people is a recipie for disaster often being the foolhardy choice. I learned I need to be clear about what my boundaries and limitations are so that people would not assume they could wipe their feet across my face or feelings.

So while I am still "nice" (I say Bless when someone sneezes, I give my seat to old and pregnant women on the train, I return wallets that don't belong to me) I realized that, just like back in high school, I take my "niceness" too far. I recently was reminded by several people and incidents that my attempts to be properly understood and percieved don't allow people to see my depth of emotions or that in my quest to communicate well, I'm not as assertive as I need to be.

After a particularly prickly incident at my job where I had been left out of the loop on a major decision, I had to approach the decision maker about his choices and explain my discontent as well as why I thought his choices could be deterimental. I thought I had handled it properly - instead of coming out of my face after recieving an email from him, I held tight, took a deep breath and waited until my anger had passed and addressed him the next day. My colleague told me that while my speaking out was great, my barking didn't mean much if there was no bite behind it. "You always complain Jess, that's nothing new." The words rang in my ears but I realized he was right. I had to start putting some muscle into what I was saying, if you're gonna talk about it, be about it.

I think I've always assumed your work envrionment was not the place to be emotional, not the place to express your true feelings, or the place to stand up for your values. Mostly because I've always been scared of being viewed or reprimanded for being inappropriate or even worse insubordinate. I think that as a woman especially I've always tried to gauge appropriate and inappropriate behavior so that I wouldn't cross a line or fit into the typical mold of the "emotional woman" on the job and be taken seriously.

But that's not the case. It is possible to be open and sincere and be taken seriously. And I am happy to report that just a week after that last incident, I didn't hold my tongue or my action when another situation arose. Another colleague was skeptical of my decision on a project and was insisting that we backpedal and take a safer route. Although I was upset, rather than get incensed, deflate and modify my approach, I went with my gut and approached this person who doubted my decision. I explained my disappointment with his reaction and demanded that we resolve it immediately. I didn't need to get all worked up and then calm myself down after thinking and rethinking what I wanted to say or venting to someone else about it. I had the capacity to deal with it in real time rather than assuming how it would go.

Sure my colleague was upset and felt attacked, but just a few days later, he apologized and said I was right and that my instinct and judgement were right on cue. I guess being Not-so-nice has its benefits after all.

May 1, 2006

Represent, Represent, CUBA!

I had the immense pleasure of seeing my all time favorite group, Cuban hip hoppers, Orishas, perform tonight at Irving Plaza in NYC. I don't usually go out on Sunday nights because I work long days beginning on Mondays, but this was one show that I wasn't going to miss out on. And I can't say enough about how amazing they were! Their rhymes were tight, their moves were dope and their energy was contagious. They had an immense energy that they used to perform my all time favorites ("Mistica," "Canto para Elewa y Chango," "537 Cuba") as well as new cuts off of their latest album, El Kilo.

As I swayed along to the beat, hunching over the balcony, scruffing up my elbows on ledge, screaming maniaclly when they broke from performing to smile, buggin my homey Alex to take pics with his camera, I was knocked over the head. Watching them play with the crowd and just generally being wowed by their enthusiasm and talent, I was reminded of how much I absolutely and completely adore my Latino men. Guerrero, Ruzzo y Roldan are FINE.

FINE in the sense that I want to take you home for the night,
FINE as in tall, dark and scrumptious,
FINE as in I'm going to melt because of your piercing stare and intensity when you look at me, makes me wish I really was the only person in the room.

(And yes, I say "my Latino men" because each of the beings that shares my blood is part of my community and therefore, I egotistically claim them. =)) But that is completely besides the point.

And yes, their physical appearances were amazing (broad shoulders, chiseled jaws, brooding brows, dark hair, yum!), but it was the way they carried themselves, the way I see so many hombres I see and admire, that was distinctly Latino:

*the confident swagger that makes me hear music when I watch one walk by or towards me;
*the penetrating gaze that takes me outside of whatever space I'm in and creates a world with just 2;
*the way mouths and tongues mingle languages and remind me of their versatility;
*the natural rhythm that effortlessly erupts when they begin to let loose and are set free.

These gorgeous Cubano expats were distinctly different but yet all reminded me of the things I LOVE.

Muchismas gracias Orishas! Ache...